


Tall Ships & Taller Tales

by LooNEY_DAC



Series: LooNEY_DAC's SSSS AUs [5]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2018-09-02 10:21:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8663890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LooNEY_DAC/pseuds/LooNEY_DAC
Summary: The SSSS crew as buccaneers.





	1. Don’t Cross the Saw-Bones

Somewhere near the Azores  
1610

The day started out ordinarily enough on the pirate, erm, privateer ship _Sea-Lynx_.

Munitions Master Emil Västerström carefully made his way up to the crow’s-nest with his burden, a basket of victuals from First Officer/Ship’s Cook/Ship’s Doctor/No-one-knew-what-all-else Mikkel Madsen for their lookout, Lalli Hotakainen. Lalli just about lived in the crow’s-nest, and he was rather particular about just who could bring him his meals. So far, only Ship’s Navigator (and Carpenter) Tuuri Hotakainen, Lalli’s cousin, and Emil were accorded the privilege. Certainly their Cabin Boy, Reynir Something-Or-Other (Arnason? Arnisen?) was _not_.

Today, however, Lalli was even more intent on his job than usual, staring through his glass at one particular spot with a worried expression. Emil, cognizant of the disastrous consequences of the last time he’d startled Lalli, began humming a shanty popular with the crew, slowly getting louder until Lalli indicated that he’d heard.

“Well, Lalli,” Emil said, “I’ve brought you your mess and Mister Mikkel’s compliments, and I find you troubled over something off in the distance. Are there fair winds ahead or foul?” He set the hamper at Lalli’s feet while he said this.

Lalli handed over the glass, pointed to where he’d been gazing, and addressed the hamper. Before digging in, however, the look-out vouchsafed one word that explained everything. _“Túnfiskurinn.”_

Emil swore. “I’ll tell the captain. She’ll know what to do.” He handed back the glass. “Eat well; we may be for it soon.” Soon, he was scrambling back down the rigging.

The _Túnfiskurinn_ was their great rival in these waters. Their sponsor before the Danish Crown, one Trond Andersen (who was connected in some arcane fashion with the Norwegian Assembly, and possibly the Swedish Assembly, and maybe even the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth) had, by some means or other, become the personal nemesis of _Túnfiskurinn’s_ captain, one Ása Hardardóttir. Unable to hurt Trond herself, Ása took great delight in fouling the lines for whatever ventures he had underwritten at any given moment.

When Ása had heard that the _Sea-Lynx_ was sponsored by Trond, she’d scented easy pickings. When their daring Captain Sigrun Eide had put paid to her schemes, Ása had vowed revenge on them personally as well. Neither Emil nor Lalli (nor any of the others in the crew, perhaps only Sigrun herself excepted) were desirous of a rematch now.

The Azores were the cross-roads of the Atlantic: convoys to Portugal from their Far Eastern possessions watered there, and the currents also brought convoys from New Spain to Spain proper temptingly near the islands. Of course, the Spanish and the Portuguese were much stronger in these waters than elsewhere, but a nimble raider could always pick off a lagging, lackadaisically run and unwary ship or two.

The _Sea-Lynx_ was primed to score a rich prize, and woe betide any who would get in her way. And not beforetime, either; they were all hungry for the spree attendant on a new prize taken, and this hunger would redouble their ire should it be thwarted.

And so it was that Emil scuttled down to the ornate door behind which their Captain (presumably) slept with his tidings from Lalli. Before he could knock, though, Mister Mikkel had seized his hand.

“Not so hasty, Mister Emil,” he said mildly. “I am about to deliver the kit for the Captain’s morning ablutions, and I believe you remember what happened to the last crewman who barged in before she’d finished them.”

“But Mister Mikkel,” Emil protested, “it’s the _Túnfiskurinn!_ Lalli sighted her just as I brought his breakfast from you!”

Mister Mikkel frowned. “Very well. But _I_ had still better deliver the news. That way, I’ll be the one on which the ax falls. Go back to your powders and shot; you know well we may need them soon.”


	2. Eide, Eide, Up She Rises

The _Sea-Lynx_ danced across the waves, easily swooping around to cut across _Túnfiskurinn’s_ path, ending in prime position to deliver a broadside of Emil’s Finest. Only the _Sea-Lynx_ with Tuuri at the helm could have pulled the maneuver off, and certainly only Sigrun would have tried it.

Right when Emil was ready to fire a ranging shot, Lalli spotted the convoy, too far in the wrong direction for them to catch even the worst straggler... as Ása had planned all along. Her purpose accomplished, _Túnfiskurinn_ came about hard, fleeing the awakened wrath of the predator she’d thwarted.

Emil let off one shot, a special he’d been saving for just this possibility. The chain whipped through the air and struck _Túnfiskurinn’s_ mainmast true, shattering the proud pine into a broken stump.

It was a bitter consolation for a crew hungry for gold.

“Bring us about, Tuuri,” Sigrun ordered. “We sail for the Antilles.”

*

The lone Spanish galleon _Mariposa Reina_ , laden down with gold for His Majesty and bringing the outgoing Viceroy home, was a ripe target for a buccaneer, but none aboard her had seen so much as a distant sail for the last fortnight. Not unnaturally, the battalion of His Majesty’s Soldiers also aboard were growing increasingly irked. Captain Vejar almost pitied any pirates that tried to plunder his ship.

Suddenly, a cry arose from the crow’s nest. Opposite the setting sun, a trim ship had appeared, sails blazing orange in the fading light.

The captain and his first mate took out their spyglasses and examined the interloper, growing closer by the minute. All they saw were bodies strewn across the various topside apparati; no sign of life aboard showed itself.

Finally, the mate observed, “It’s a scurvy ship, sir. You can tell by the position of the limbs. It seems that scurvy’s killed the whole crew.”

“Poor wretches,” the former viceroy observed, having approached while they were examining the derelict. “But their loss would seem to be His Majesty’s gain. Do you see any compelling reason that we should not give the poor wretches a Christian burial at sea and put a prize crew on that ship, Captain?”

Captain Vejar mulled it over for a moment. Then he turned to the mate. “Are you ready for your own command, Mister Alvarez?”

“Taking the ship as an escort might be wise in these waters,” that worthy replied, “but we’ll need a good supply of oranges aboard; I won’t have that scenario play out for my men,” gesturing at the derelict and her dead crew.

“Fit out a boat and take her, then,” the captain said.

*

The bodies had been placed in rows on the deck, as it was too late in the day for a proper funeral. The sight of all those shrouded figures glowing blue-white in the bright moonlight was rather unnerving for the night helmsman, though, who began grousing at the other man sharing the watch.

Mostly, the other man let the grousing roll over him without taking it in, like the crying of gull in a good harbor, but he noticed when it suddenly stopped. He turned to ask the helmsman what was wrong and tripped over some long strand of rope...

...which was actually Reynir’s braid. Once the prize crew had been taken out in a few silent but bloody minutes, Tuuri retook the wheel, slowly bringing the _Sea-Lynx_ alongside her prey.

Sigrun and Emil led the two wings of the boarders: Emil took the fo’c’s’le party with a reluctant Reynir, while Sigrun and Lalli went for the decapitation strike. Mister Mikkel remained behind with Tuuri.

The Spanish soldiery of the time had few equals, but Sigrun and Emil took advantage of the fact that blind and choking men usually can’t fight very well. Emil’s smudge-pots were quite effective in that regard.

So passed the complement, crew and passengers of the _Mariposa Reina_ , save the former viceroy and his family, who were given a small boat and enough provender to take them to the Azores, “compliments of Captain Eide”.


	3. Them As Eide’s Can Finds

At anchor off Water Island  
1610

The sun was setting, turning the West into a dazzling light show as it dipped toward the water. Lalli Hotakainen sighed in contentment at being back in his crow’s-nest atop the mighty _Sea-Lynx_. He and Emil had been run to a frazzle trying to keep the _Mariposa Reina_ prize crew from ripping each others’ throats out on a daily basis.

Emil was playing least-in-sight, out of shame, if Lalli had to guess. As Acting Captain on the _Mariposa Reina_ , Emil was responsible for the prize crew. He had mostly had to resort to threats of reporting the brawlers to Captain Eide; his failure to properly control his first crew on his own was obviously grievous to him.

Captain Eide had decided that, as was their custom, the bulk of their haul would be interred on the nearby peninsula of Orkanhullet, far enough away from the pirate-ridden Water Island and the native-ridden harbor beyond that neither group would be like to venture in its environs. The rest of the spoils would be divided when they reached Tortola, where the crew would disembark, party until they were broke, and then trickle back to the _Sea-Lynx_.

The _Mariposa Reina_ herself would be scuttled, of course; sad as it was, since they couldn’t sell her and she was far too slow to be anything but a millstone on the _Sea-Lynx’s_ neck, her fate was sealed.

The familiar sound of Emil humming _just_ slightly off-key set Lalli’s ears to twitching. Was it mess time already?

Apparently it was, and apparently the Swede meant to join Lalli at their repast. This had been commonplace during their stint on the _Mariposa Reina_ , and Lalli, being in a generous mood due to their return, decided not to protest.

As inevitably as Emil spilling food on himself, the Swede also chose to take the opportunity afforded by their seclusion to unburden himself to Lalli, which the Finn again did not protest. Emil would come to a stop in his own time, and Lalli had learned to let the babble wash over him when the Swede had a mind to talk (and talk, and talk). Better him than Tuuri.

Lalli jerked upright with a start, senses focussed on one thing: a twinkle on the horizon. His sudden move disconcerted Emil until Lalli grabbed his spy-glass.

“What is it, Lalli?” Emil asked.

After a long stretch of silent watching, Lalli finally answered with two words. _“Túnfiskurinn,_ again.”

Emil turned the darkening air blue with curses cribbed from the captain before scrambling down the rigging to tell her that they’d been found.

*

Sigrun had Emil going up to the crow’s nest and back like a yo-yo while she drew up her plans.

The good news was that the yet-to-be-scuttled _Mariposa Reina_ was opposite from where the _Túnfiskurinn_ was lurking, so she might not have been spotted as yet. The bad news was that all of the loot was still aboard the _Mariposa Reina_.

All they could do was risk an expedition by night to cache as much of the loot as they could, and then await what the dawn would bring...


	4. The Saga of Red Braid

“...And _that_ , me laddies, is how the Kraken fell to the magnificent Captain Eide, under whom I proudly served as cabin boy.”

Not a few jaws were agape at the tale their captain, who went by the moniker of “the Red Braid”, had told, but there were also a few scoffers. “Captain Eide,” one of these unworthies unwisely guffawed. “Tales o’ her be no more true than those o’ the Kraken itself, says I.”

The whole table burst into laughter, save the Red Braid. He merely sat with a patronizing smile on his face until the mirth subsided. “I’faith, ’twould depend upon who’s doing the telling, says I.”

“And it seems to _me_ , Mister Reynir” a stentorian voice spat out from behind him, “that your telling has grown somewhat lacking, says Eide.”

The first words made everyone at the table jump, again save Reynir. By the end of her statement, all eyes were fixed on the tall, proud form looming up behind their captain.

“Tis most woeful, my Captain,” the Red Braid answered calmly, “that the tales I have to share of your adventures are yet so outlandish that I must needs omit the half of what I saw, lest none credit them at all.” He gestured at the motley assemblage seated at the table. “My Gentlemen of Fortune, I give ye Sigrun Eide, the woman who slew the Kraken with a stirring rod.”

One look at the woman standing behind their captain was enough to quell any doubts they might have had about his veracity.

“You’ve been babbling my adventures hither and yon,” Captain Eide said. “Now tell me a tale of your own, featuring the mighty Captain Red Braid.”

The Red Braid smiled. “Very well, my Captain,” he answered.

Reynir had been in command of the _Túnfiskurinn_ for a few scant weeks when he ran into trouble. They weren’t supposed to rendezvous with the _Sea-Lynx_ and the _Drakeld_ , Emil’s command, for another month, so Reynir was on his own this time.

Not that it would have mattered so much; the trouble was a French squadron out for the blood of Ása Hardardóttir, _Túnfiskurinn’s_ former captain. That Ása was now resting at the bottom of the sea meant less than nothing to them.

Now, the _Túnfiskurinn_ was a fine ship, but the French had no less than five men-o-war in their squadron, so running was really their only option. It still grated, both on Reynir and his men.

Of course, no one can run forever; turning and fighting had to be part of the plan, and so it was.

The French squadron chased them into a harbor as night fell, the French wisely (or so they thought) standing off in a blockade that would eventually force the pirates out in a battle they couldn’t hope to win. The Red Braid had a different plan.

Under cover of darkness, the boarding parties got under way, and before dawn broke, the French squadron had been taken, though not without loss.

The most _annoying_ thing about the whole affair was how little loot was to be had. Aside from the ships themselves, the affair yielded more or less nothing of value: no gold, no objets d’art, nor anything else for a nice spree. But still, taking out a full squadron of men-o-war so soon in his captaincy was a major feather in Reynir’s cap.

“...And that was just the beginning,” Reynir concluded. Every eye at the table had been fixed on him for some time now, the senior crewmen nodding as they recalled his tale. “Not that Captain Eide stuck around to hear more.”

“She’s gone! ... Where did she go? ... How on earth did she get away without us seeing?” The voices mingled in drunken cacophony.

“Well, me laddies, as to Captain Eide...” the Red Braid paused significantly, “...she died a good three years ago. Helped plant her meself, I did.”

Not a few of the crew crossed themselves, or made other gestures meant to ward off evil. The Red Braid snorted. As though any of _that_ would avail them against Captain Eide’s wrath.

A few round of drinks and a few more tall tales later, Reynir finally rose, leading his now thoroughly inebriated men off to their waiting ship...


	5. The Rising Eide

The Ottoman ships plying the Aegean thought themselves invulnerable; after all, the Mediterranean had been the Sultan’s lake for nearly a century. The idea that _Ottoman_ ships would fall prey to _Christian_ raiders was unthinkable to these merchantmen.

The _Sea-Lynx_ came as quite a nasty surprise to all who came under her guns; for more than six months, the mighty Captain Eide was the terror of the Dodecanese and the Levant, once going even so far as to raid the Barbary sultanates themselves. They called her “the Flame-Head”, when they dared speak of her at all.

Between these sorties, the crew of the _Sea-Lynx_ found a warm welcome in Old Venice, which was slowly girding itself up for another go-around with the Ottomans and thus happy to aid any who challenged the Ottoman Navy with such open piracy against their fleets. They even put up with a few “mysterious” fires in Emil’s wake.

Of course, the Sultan’s Navy could not countenance such raiding going unchallenged, so a Hunt was organized. The Aegean soon saw a net of patrols so tight that nothing could slip through. That was the week in which the _Sea-Lynx_ raided Algiers, Tripoli and Rabat.

As winter approached, however, Captain Eide grew more and more restive--the thought of returning to her stash in the Caribbean waxed attractive as the loot in the _Sea-Lynx_ ’s hold grew heavier and heavier. In this, Lalli agreed with the Captain; thus, Emil agreed with them both. Neither Tuuri nor Mikkel were particularly eager to leave the lush Mediterranean and its rich ports, but Reynir was indifferent (not that _his_ opinion mattered, except maybe to Tuuri).

Matters really came to a head when Sigrun got hurt, though. The _Sea-Lynx_ had intimidated a lone barque into surrendering a few leagues off Cyprus, but when Reynir led the prize crew aboard, they were ambushed by some janissaries hiding below. Sigrun had saved Reynir by jumping between him and the head janissary, but at the cost of some nasty cuts to her arm.

After disposing of every last person left on the barque, Reynir prevailed upon Emil to set it ablaze and drove it into the harbor of Paphos, the heads of the putative crew hanging from the prow. Reynir was getting pretty good at visual messaging like that, Emil had to admit. Lalli was a bit more dismissive, but still admitted Reynir was getting “almost competent”.

This incident served to convince the crew that the time was right for them to head back to Water Island, if only to secure the loot before their next cruise, so Tuuri set course for the Straits of Gibraltar. Mikkel had his hands full fending off an overly-eager-to-help Reynir _and_ trying to get Sigrun to keep from re-injuring herself every few days.

The Straits were a natural place for an ambush, and the crew waited and watched with bated breath until the _Sea-Lynx_ finally left their narrows behind. A few hours later, when they had all finally got the jitters out of their systems, the _Sea-Lynx_ came under attack...


	6. By the Marque

Sigrun Eide, proud captain of the mighty pirate, erm, privateer ship _Sea-Lynx_ , terror of the Caribbean and (more recently) of the Mediterranean, smiled as the flotilla deployed around the _Sea-Lynx_. This would be fun.

The Ottomans had laid their trap well, but they were up against the _Sea-Lynx_ , with Tuuri Hotakainen at the helm, Emil Västerström at the guns, and Sigrun herself still firmly in command, despite a recently mauled arm. Sigrun wondered briefly if they should deliberately leave any of their foes free to flee and carry the tale of their epic defeat to the Grand Turk, but decided to let the chips fall where they may in that.

As Tuuri wheeled the ship in an impossible turn (despite the bulk of their Mediterranean loot weighing her down), Emil let off a barrage of his latest mix. Each shot was a hit that crippled its chosen target, wiping seven of their adversaries away at the outset.

The Ottoman ships were trying to bring their own guns to bear, but the maneuver had put them all out of place, and the loss of a third of their ships in that first blow had shaken them badly, even as it stirred them to fierce anger. They were all still battle-hardened sailors in the service of the Grand Turk rather than mercenary rats merely fighting to line their own pockets, so the remaining Ottoman ships plunged gallantly into the developing maelstrom.

Ten minutes later, it was over. The only Ottoman ships remaining afloat had been reduced to battered hulks incapable of further combat. Perhaps there were survivors on them; Sigrun didn’t particularly care. The _Sea-Lynx_ had taken only minor damage, and no casualties to speak of, and that was what mattered.

“Resume course to Water Island,” Sigrun told Tuuri before going below. Her arm was itching and aching again; she’d have to have her first mate, Mister Mikkel Madsen, who was also the ship’s doctor, look at it for her, and maybe change the dressing.

*

The message waiting for them in the usual drop-off spot requested their presence in Trinidad, the last of the Windward Islands and a known haven for smugglers, privateers and out-and-out pirates, on a certain day and in a certain place, so after adding the usual share of their Mediterranean loot to the stash, Sigrun had Tuuri make for that island, though the crew grumbled a bit at not being allowed to browse their usual watering holes in the Bahamas first.

The… _spot_ where the _Sea-Lynx_ found anchorage was not much more than a mud hut or two and a bunch of tents that periodically burst into activity like a blooming flower when a ship came to call; Sigrun could easily see why the locals wouldn’t ask too many questions about the source of the gold flowing their way. It bore the absurdly grand name of “the Port of Spain”, which contrasted sharply with its sorry state.

Almost before Sigrun had had the chance to form this despective opinion of the little fortlet, she was hit with a rather nasty surprise: Trond himself had come out to this backwater of backwaters to personally meet with her. Some intense consultation with Mister Mikkel followed; but the meeting could not be avoided, and so Sigrun went…


End file.
